* * * * *


BULL AND NO BULL.


"I was going," said an Irishman, "over Westminster Bridge the other day,
and I met Pat Hewins--'Hewins,' says I, 'how are you?'--'Pretty well,' says
he, 'thank you, Donnelly.'--'Donnelly,' says I, 'that's not _my_ name.'--
'Faith, no more is mine Hewins,' says he. So we looked at each other again,
and sure it turned out to be neither of us--and where's the bull of _that_
now?"

* * * * *


BAD HABIT.


Sir Frederick Flood had a droll habit of which he could never effectually
break himself (at least in Ireland.) Whenever a person at his back
whispered or suggested any thing to him whilst he was speaking in public,
without a moment's reflection, he always repeated the suggestion
_literatim_. Sir Frederick was once making a long speech in the Irish
Parliament, lauding the transcendent merits of the Wexford magistracy, on
a motion for extending the criminal jurisdiction in that county, to keep
down the disaffected. As he was closing a most turgid oration by declaring
"that the said magistracy ought to receive some signal mark of the Lord
Lieutenant's favour,"--John Egan, who was rather mellow, and sitting
behind him, jocularly whispered, "and be whipped at the cart's tail."--